


foul language

by wordtheef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (in love!!), Bad Dirty Talk, Begging, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Idiots in Love, Light Bondage, Married Couple, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: Brienne really has a mouth on her.





	foul language

Brienne (formerly maid, formerly of Tarth) was generally thoughtful, temperate, slow to speak. She preferred to say what she meant and nothing more. This was typical of her vision of honor, and (Jaime felt) made a good contrast to his own loudmouthed constant nervy chatter. They fit beautifully together, didn’t they.

But as it turned out, there were situations where she found her tongue.

Usually this was when Jaime had his inside her.

Like tonight. He was barely between her legs before she moaned, arching up, shifting down to take more of him. She couldn’t move far; her hands were tied to the bed. (Jaime’s idea. He was very creative, given the right motivation.)

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

“Mm.” He stroked her clit slowly. “Tell me what to do.”

“Stop _talking_,” she said.

He rubbed his face against the inside thigh, where it was most sensitive.

She hissed. “Jaime.”

At least she didn’t call him the wrong name, like _Tourmond_ or (gods help them all) _Jon Snow_. She’d done that once — he was spending longer than she wanted on a certain part of her anatomy, and she said “Yes, Jon — right there — yes —”

and Jaime rose up to glare, while Brienne laughed out loud.

The wench had got her way, though; he’d made her come within the minute.

That wasn’t happening tonight, though. He wanted to make her beg for it tonight.

Slow, slow, he licked and bit and teased — backing off and smiling at her whenever the noises and heat meant she was starting to get close.

Brienne whimpered. The bed creaked as she pulled against the ties.

“Sorry?” said Jaime, holding one finger very still in her cunt. “Is there something you want?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” Another finger, and he moved so slow it might not have been moving at all.

She drew up her legs. “I’m very — I can take you.”

“You could, yes. Congratulations.” Slowly inside, slowly out. “You’re very wet.”

“I would _like_ to have you.”

“Mm.” His cock twitched when she said things like that and he didn’t trust himself to speak. He counted to ten, cleared his throat, and said: “I think you can wait a while longer.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“How long did you make me wait?” said Jaime.

This was an old argument; Brienne rolled her eyes. “We could have been doing this since Riverrun, if you weren’t such a coward—”

She squeaked; he’d pushed three fingers into her. Tight, tight, and wet, and she smelled like rain.

Jaime affected disinterest. “What was that?”

She licked her mouth. “Your cock is so hard. Wouldn’t you like it inside me?”

He didn’t answer. Tease, tease, with a little crook to his finger and her breath coming in little jerks, and the pink spreading down her bare chest, her beautiful nipples, taut and aching for his tongue on them.

That, he could do — and he could keep his hand inside, too.

Brienne swore.

Jaime smiled.

“Fuck,” she said. “_Fuck_, Jaime.”

He took out his fingers and went back to the clit.

Brienne’s hips jerked. “Just. Fuck me.”

“Such language, ser.” Gods, she tasted good. He crawled on top of her — his cock was periliously close to where he wanted, and it took a moment to regain the control not to simply —

— but no.

Her collarbone was freckled and pale, little spots of sweat collecting in it; he cleaned them away.

“Son of a shit,” said Brienne. “Jaime fucking Lannister, I swear to every one of the gods, old and new, I will make you regret this.”

He doubted that very much.

He rubbed himself against her cunt (with a shiver) and pushed just the tip inside, just the barest bit.

The dirtiest things he’d ever heard came out of her mouth — she really had been in battle camps — calling him a _filthy pox-addled whoreson _and a _shit-covered mogrel _and _sister fucker _—

“Be polite,” said Jaime, mild. He’d gone back to putting one finger in her cunt, acting disinterested.

“Fuck me, — please — take me, just go in me — you can do better than this — or untie me, let me at you — or let me take you in my mouth, I see you dripping already, I could clean it off — Jaime, please please please—”

He couldn’t get any harder, he couldn’t, and he wasn’t going to last much longer. He took out his hand (Brienne said something rude) and pushed into her, one single stroke that had her crying out, incoherent.

She wasn’t complaining any more and neither was Jaime; she’d locked her legs around his waist and rose to meet him harder every time he thrust back deep. He wished she was free now, he wanted her nails down his back and her hands gripping him hard, gods he just wanted her, wanted it — she moaned, shuddering all over — her body tensed tight against him — and Jaime came inside her with a quick hot finish.

Sloppily sated, he worked her ties loose and saw her smile.

“I missed touching you,” she said.

“I missed that, too.” He moved away, to let her catch her breath. “And I never expected you to use such foul language, ser. It’s hardly worthy of a knight.”

“Next time,” she said, “I’ll have you tied up, and we’ll see what you say.”

“Tomorrow,” said her husband. “Give an old man the chance to rest.”


End file.
